“At Venus’ entreaty for Cupid, her son,
These arrows by Vulcan are cunningly done.
The first is Love, as here you may behold,
His feathers, head and body are of gold,
The second shaft is Hate, a foe to Love,
And bitter are his torments for to prove;
The third is Hope, from which our comfort springs,
His feathers they are pulled from fortune’s wings;
Fourth, Jealousy in basest minds doth dwell:
His metal Vulcan’s Cyclops sent from Hell.”